


PALMTOP

by thoughtsdemise



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Humor, M/M, Mech/Mech, RP Luna-1 Reality (warped doesn’t even begin to cover it), Squirting, Sticky Sex, tactile play, tea cup mech
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-19
Updated: 2017-02-19
Packaged: 2018-09-25 11:33:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9818549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thoughtsdemise/pseuds/thoughtsdemise
Summary: Sometimes you get the calculations wrong, and there are unexpected results.





	

Pharma rumbles his engine aggressively and puffs his plating to look fierce.  His wings flex and spread to make himself look like more of a threat to the mech smiling down at him.  The red optics lighting in delight at his antics only serve to infuriate him more.  He turns his gaze to the side and pouts when he is unable to intimidate the mech in whose hands he rests.

“Come on, doc.  It’s not that bad.”

Little wings twitch and dance in irritation.  Pharma crosses his arms and turns away from the looming visage of Lockdown.  His shoulders hunch at that patronizing chuckle.

“At least I saved you from being stepped on.”

Pharma curls in on himself further.

“Oh…oh I get it now!”

Pharma tumbles forward and smacks his chin against the palm of Lockdown’s hand.  He puts his hands and knees beneath him, turning to glare at the bounty hunter over his shoulder as he is lifted to optic level.  The now free hand hovers over him.  Pharma flips and swats at a claw.  His engine revs menacingly.   His EM field turns prickly as it brushes against metal.  Pharma shifts himself with the rolling ground as Lockdown belly laughs.

“Frag, you’re too cute like this when you’re mad.  You know.”

The medic shrinks from that wry smirk and the way red optics light with pleasure.  His spark spins at the way Lockdown’s field curls about and caresses him in exploration.  He tries very hard not to be turned on the familiar and comforting touch, but damn that bounty hunting ‘Con to the pits!!  He knew how to tickle Pharma’s field just right.

“Nnnh, ahhh.”

“And finally we get noise!”

Pharma covers his face with his hands.  Wings jittery and twitch like malfunctioning helicopter blades.  He presses his thighs together.  The claw rubbing along his spinal strut isn’t helping things either as Pharma turns into a pliable puddle.  But despite all of that wonderful stimulation, the thing that undoes him is the soft exvent across his frame.

“Pop goes the medic.”

Pharma rests against Lockdown’s palm, vents heaving to cool is him.  His optics dim and brighten with the passing charge burst running through his systems.  The tip of a claw traces over a small wing which folds back from the stimulation.  Pharma writhes.  His thighs widen and push up.  Lockdown’s field is nearly tangible as it swirls teasingly about the tiny mech.

“I wonder if the little flyer can still fly?”

Pharma is tossed into the air without warning.  He draws in a noiseless breath, optics widening.  His arms wave wildly as he plummets from the unexpected toss.  He lands with a small disconcerted noise in the center of Lockdown’s palm on his cockpit.  He pushes up to his hands and knees trying to glare at the big mech over his shoulder vent.  A knuckle pushes Pharma’s helm back to the surface of the palm.  Blue hips remain aloft and open to the red gaze above him.

“Mm, such a mess.  Might have to give ya a bath.”

The tip of a glossa flicks over Pharma’s valve.  He wails and sinks his digits into the seams of the bounty hunter’s hand.  His cheek rubs against the pliable metal with each passing swipe of that glossa.  His turbine turns and tries to fire only to sputter with the abort codes.  Pharma kneads the edges of a seam.  His thighs shake with the coming overload.  Lubricants track down the inside of his thighs with each passing swipe.

“Huh.  Not as sweet as I wanted.  Course it’s only a small nibble.”

Pharma pops up on his hands when he feels a denta edge scrape over his aft.  He scrabbles forward on hands and knees, clinging to the massive clawed digit that blocks his path.  He rubs against the metal trying to release enough of his charge to think straight.   The claws holding his tiny form flex and pulse.  The tangible field wraps around him again.  He nips a seam and bites hard.  The overload crashes over him.  He squeezes his thighs together.  The line of his spinal strut is something to behold as he strains back but does not break under the pressure.  He sags and twitches.

“Now that’s a mess.”

Pharma tries to shift but his systems are too tired.  He is able to wiggle his digits between his thighs.  He tries to cover the edges of his valve in modesty.  Lubricants seep around the digits and form a pool on Lockdown’s palm.  The bigger mech smiles and leans forward to lap at the mess.  The tip of his glossa every so often will tickle a micro-sized ped.  The complaining whimpers from the medic only calling the glossa back again and again.

“Oh stop bitchin’, Pharma.  And if ya stop playin’ with your valve, you’d be clean.”

Pharma draws his digits shyly and reluctantly away.  He huffs in feigned irritation as Lockdown continues with the glossa bath.  The bounty hunter cleans his own palm then begins on the medic, taking care to ghost swipe licks of the delicate frame so there was no denting.  Pharma wails and floods twice more before Lockdown is able to return him to a semi-presentable state.  Pharma sits with his back to Lockdown, wings flicking in charged emotion.

“Ya want me to run the shower or the sink?”

The tiny mech growls his turbine and slumps forward.  His digits tap on his arm as he tries to remain quiet.  He knows that even his patience will not outlast Lockdown in this particular thing.  “Sink,” he mumbles.  He vents trying to steal himself against the thought of the liquid running over his frame.  He shifts and presses digits against his valve.  “Frag.”

“Oh yeah.  We’re gonna see about that stamina problem.”

Pharma whimpers and tries to ignore the playful mischief tugging at his EM field.  He can hear the smug smile in Lockdown’s vocal patterns.  The bigger mech knew his own number would be up someday soon, but he was going to enjoy the little pliable metal ball of fury he was carrying to the sink as long as he was allowed.


End file.
